Sweet Inspiration
by Elizabeth Stuart
Summary: Han complains about stereotyped Lukes in fanfic. Humor, slash inference.


**_Sweet Inspiration_******

**_By Elizabeth Stuart_**

The tension slowly dissolved from his body. Han leaned his head against the cushioned back of the sofa and wearily raised his legs. With twin thumps, his booted feet came to rest on the table. He linked his fingers together and stretched his arms straight, yawning. His eyes closed. "That was some day."

Indeed it had been long. A minor skirmish with the Imperials, Rebel troops evading capture and routing the enemy, a typically brusque confrontation with her highness, the Falcon's hyperdrive failing--again. Han sighed. Since he'd joined up with the Alliance, his life had become dull and predictable. The single bright spot was Luke. Who would've guessed that under that naive blond exterior lay a passionate lover?

"What're you doin', kid?" he called lazily. "Get in here."

Immediately he heard the patter of little feet. Then an intoxicating aroma wafted toward his nostrils. "What the-- "

"I've made your favorite cookies!" a soft voice announced proudly. "Bantha drops."

Han opened his eyes. He lifted his head. He looked at Luke.

"You're wearing an apron," he said finally, when he'd regained his voice.

"Well, of course I am! I couldn't possibly muss my fave Tatooweenie whites-- silly boy!" Luke raised the silver tray above his head and sashayed toward the table. "Connie Cookiebaker coming through! And get those feet off the furniture, Hanikins-- honestly, were you born in a barn?"

"Huh?" Automatically Han dropped his feet to the floor. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's goin' on, Luke?"

Golden lashes fluttered coyly. "I told you, honeybun, I baked your favorites. I'll do just any ol' thing to please my big strong man." Folding his legs gracefully, Luke sank to the floor and gazed up at Han, his blue eyes aglow with worship.

"Oh, shit." Han slapped his forehead and stood. He stalked to the screen and stared out belligerently. "Hey, you! Yeah, _YOU_!"

"Who are you talking to, sweetums?"

He ignored the brat. His fingers curled around the grip of his blaster. "Lookit, lady, I've had about enough of this." He shook his finger at the screen. "This-- this _THING_ is not my Luke. You've got him totally out of character. My Luke doesn't swish, okay? He's not effeminate. He doesn't wear an apron. His middle name is not MarySue. What zine do you think you're writing for anyway?" He scowled fiercely. "Fix him or I'm not cooperating."

He stalked away, then whirled back and shook his finger. "I mean it-- I won't cooperate. And you know what that means-- weeks of writer's block."

Luke was gone. Han settled back on the sofa and got comfortable again. He frowned, shooting a suspicious glance at the kitchen. "Uh...what're you doin', kid?" he called sharply. "Get in here."

"Who are you calling kid?" came a quietly controlled voice behind him.

Han slowly turned his head and raised one eyebrow. Luke was in his Jedi black, an odd smile on his face. "I'm calling you kid."

"I don't like it."

"Yeah?" A crooked grin twisted his face. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"I'm going to make you stop."

"You and what army?"

"This army." Braided black leather was raised. Luke's bare left hand fondled the whip lovingly. "I'm going to make you scream 'til your throat is raw," he whispered. "Then I'm going to fuck you through the floor. You won't be good for anything when I'm done with you."

"Oh, gods," Han groaned. "I'm getting a headache."

"No excuses tonight, lover. I mean to have you up one side and down the other."

"Shit!" He untangled his legs and strode toward the screen again. "Now you've gone too far the other way. What's your problem? Quit all this experimenting! This is Luke, just Luke, okay? Be true to the trilogy. Think about it. Tatooine farmboy, Jedi knight, St. Luke... remember? 'He was always such a _GOOD_ boy.' How about tryin' it again? True to the trilogy. Once more." He shook a warning finger at the screen and returned to the sofa. Luke was gone.

"So... what're you doin', kid?" he repeated, bored. "Get in here." Great. Now he was losing his enthusiasm for the entire scene.

Luke materialized at his side. He looked normal. He was staring at his black-gloved hand, flexing the fingers and sighing.

"Cool hand, Luke," Han offered jovially.

The young Jedi's head turned slowly. Luke stared at him in disbelief.

Han shrugged. "She always wanted an opportunity to say that."

"She's using me, too," Luke whispered, frowning. "She's just like my father. _YOU'RE_ just like my father. You only want me for my power."

"For your body," Han corrected.

"Same thing." Luke sighed heavily and flexed his fingers again. "It will always be this way. The Darkness is inside me, Han, it's always with me. I'm Dark, Dark, Dark, just like my father. I'm Vader's Son."

Han considered it briefly. They'd been through worse scenes than this; he could handle it. "Chill out, kid," he said finally. "How about you and me gettin' between the sheets? That always cheers you up."

The blond-turned-brunet shivered elegantly. "I can't," Luke whispered. "You don't know what I'm like inside. If you knew what I was like, you wouldn't love me. You couldn't. I'm Dark, just like my father."

"Oh, for-- " Han slapped his hands on his knees and stood. "Is somebody else helpin' you?" he yelled at the screen. "Both of you-- knock this off! I want my Luke-- plain old vanilla Luke!" He looked down.

The black Jedi was still there.

Han cursed under his breath. "All right-- I warned you. That's it! I'm not cooperating!"

He felt an odd tingle. He looked down in disbelief as first his feet vanished, then his legs. His torso tumbled onto the sofa.

"Han!" Luke screamed. "She's deleting you! Han-- oh! Oh..." He gazed pleadingly at the screen. "If Han's deleted, I'll be alone. All alone, like my father. I'll suffer for the rest of my life." He paused, tilting his head to one side as he considered that fate, then shrugged. "I guess that's my destiny."

Han wriggled his torso around and glared up at Luke, panting. "Well, it's not my destiny, damnit! Turn off the screen before she erases all of me! Yowch!" He looked down in disbelief. All of him below the waist was gone. "Oh, isn't this just wonderful! Have a heart, lady. What am I gonna do when you turn the screen off? Me an' Luke won't be able to have any fun." He wondered if she could hear him. "Luke, prop me up, will ya?"

"I can do better than that." Luke lifted Han into his arms and carried him over to the screen. "If you don't mind, would you please give him back those last couple inches?"

"_COUPLE INCHES?_" Han roared incredulously. "You're the one who's short, kid."

"Shut up, I'm trying to help you," Luke muttered from the corner of his mouth. He raised his voice again. "You see, when you turn off the screen, we...umm...well, we keep busy on our own. In fact, sometimes the next day...well, you know how it is when you sit down and we seem to write ourselves...?" Luke shrugged modestly. "I'm sure you understand what I'm saying. So if you'd repair Han, I'm certain we'll have something for you tomorrow--something wonderful, the best slash story ever written."

Yeah, Han thought to himself, another of those damn, brooding, hair-shirted Luke stories where Solo's biggest role was rescuing and reassuring the brat. Always the sidekick, never the hero. Story of his life.

Still, that particular Luke could get pretty wanton and wild. It was only afterwards that he made both of them miserable. And Han could generally sleep through that part.

A tingle ran down his spine. "Whoa, mama! I can feel it growin'!" Han shouted gratefully.

"He wishes," Luke muttered under his breath. He nodded a thanks to the screen. "Let's get in the bedroom before she changes her mind," he whispered.

Han waggled his eyebrows roguishly. "If you insist," he grinned. He turned his head and winked. Once she left, the fun could begin.

The screen went black.

**End**


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